"𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠."
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬 - A twenty-year-old woman with goals and ambitions working in the mafia. She's got people she dislikes but no...
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I quickly shuffled from one foot to another, balancing a joint in between my two fingers. I was currently waiting on a call from my father, telling me he was going to pay for Amelie's medical bills.
My younger sister Amelie, got into a car accident last year. She was coming back from her friend's birthday party and got hit by a drunk driver. She's been in a coma ever since. I've tried so many times to pay for her bills but my father keeps blocking my requested payments.
He's done that to everyone who has made an effort to pay. He wants us to implore for money, feed his ego or he'll pull the plug on my sister. My father is a vicious man, always has been and probably all he's ever going to be. Ever since we got our gold bars stolen two years ago he has yet to regain my trust.
I was finally taking over the shipments for once and when I wasn't looking. The bars got stolen. We thought the thieves would be some high-ranked gang or one of our rivals. But it turned out it was a singular person. A singular woman, to be exact.
Naomi Raven Harris.
The woman is just as psychotic as she is attractive, maybe even more. Her heart is made out of an unbreakable stone and eyes that can shoot daggers from miles away. So many things about her piss me off.
Especially how she's almost as good as me, and 7 years younger. The competition is extremely embarrassing, something I would never admit out loud. I threw away the remaining of my joint and decided to call my deadbeat father myself. I typed in his number and held the phone to my ear, walking around the walls of my large home.
"Tu devrais commencer à appeler plus souvent, Damien." He laughed from the other end of the line but I kept my mouth shut. Not daring to entertain his bullshit.
(You should start calling more often.)
"You know why I'm calling, Pierre. Pay Amélie's medical bills or I will blow your fucking brains out." I slammed my fist on the table, "why do you crave attention? Why do you need people to beg before you do something? Your daughter is stuck in that hospital bed with nurses who will pull the plug in a heartbeat! What will mom think?"
He chuckles, "J'ai arrêté de m'occuper de ta mère quand elle m'a quitté pour cet homme brésilien." He is still heartbroken because Mom left him for Charles's father 21 years ago.
(I stopped taking care of your mother the day she left me for a Brazilian man.)
"I don't blame mom." I say honestly, "you weren't a good husband. You'd sleep around with a bunch of other women and get exceedingly drunk every other day. She would've been fucked if she stayed with you."
"Tu comprendras quand tu te marieras, mon fils." He spoke, the unintelligence leaking from his tongue.
(You will understand when you get married, my son.)
